After all, it's not like we have any choice. So, let it snow.Besides, it's beautiful. It lightens the dark November days, we can make snowballs with it, and it makes everything seem more like Christmas. (Which, like all dates this year, is flying towards us with heart-stopping speed. Fifteen more days! What the !?!?)
Soon, soon, I'll be getting on a train to Montreal. I'll be spending Christmas with some dear French-Canadian family. It's funny how life works: four years ago, I was dating a guy who lived in Montreal. We were happily making plans for me to spend Christmas with him in the city, but then life happened and we ended up breaking up. Four years later - after life sent me down other paths - I'm getting my Christmas in Montreal.
What is it about Christmas in a city that gets us going? At least, a city with old buildings and snow, a sense of history and a sense of fabulous interiors. I think it has something to do with our imaginations, with picturesque scenes in our heads of snowy streets and big Christmas trees in squares. I'll go and see, and report back, shall I?
*******
In other news, a family friend died suddenly on Tuesday. Jeremy Frith was a farmer, a poet, a father, a husband, a friend. He was larger than life and certainly a good candidate, as Bill said the other day, to live forever. I kind of thought he was going to.
The news has been shocking. How could someone like that just be gone?
Just like that, I guess. And we're left to make sense of it, or at least to make sense of our feelings, which are stormy in the wake.
To read more about Jeremy, go to Susan Zettell's blog.
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